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“Previous generations purchased Renoirs and Cézannes,” Dan Lanigan states. “We’re buying stormtrooper helmets and Ghostbusters proton packs.” The burly television producer is referring to the obsessive (and high priced) quest for prop collecting. “This may be the art work of my generation.”

It was previously an underground pastime. Individuals achieved it, but no one discussed it—not only because it was embarrassing to admit you coveted Charlton Heston’s servant collar from Planet of this Apes but also due to the fact, since might be found were studio home, it had been illegal your can purchase them. Shady studio insiders plus cabal of enthusiasts struck discounts in private. That most changed in 1970, when MGM cleared some clutter from its soundstages with a three-day auction. Among The List Of frayed costumes and antique furniture that hit the block had been two of the most extremely important sci-fi props ever made: the proto-steampunk contraption through the 1960 film adaptation of H. G. Wells’ enough time Machine, and miniature model of the United Planets Cruiser C-57D, better known as the Forbidden Planet traveling saucer. Enough time device sold for almost $10,000, although there’s no record of exactly what the silver saucer went for then, it changed fingers eight years back for $76,700. Since MGM’s auction, charges for the most effective sci-fi props have actually regularly struck six-figures. In October 2015, the miniature Rebel blockade runner ship from Star Wars: Episode IV pulled straight down $450,000.

This very costly hobby is mostly about significantly more than snatching up the coolest specimens. it is about lost youth, self-identification, preserving the past, and—though many enthusiasts won’t admit it—hero worship and secret cosplay. There are numerous things in life more thrilling than watching your chosen film later through the night while clutching a screen-used prop from exact same flick in your trembling, sweaty palms, nonetheless it’s a tremendously brief list.

if the Blade Runner weapon surfaced, it was a big deal for the sci-fi prop community. After 24 years with out a sighting, enthusiasts had resigned by themselves to the proven fact that Deckard’s hand cannon had been lost forever, like tears in rain. Then abruptly there it absolutely was, on 2006 Worldcon, exhibited under cup in every its off-world glory. Using 170 forensic photographs documenting every screw, scratch, and rust spot, hardcore enthusiasts regarding the RPF hobbyist website could actually make a positive ID. Not just ended up being this an authentic BR weapon, it absolutely was the authentic “hero” blaster—hero being prop lingo for the step-by-step model utilized in close-ups—the exact same tool Harrison Ford regularly blow away replicants. 3 years later, Deckard’s PKD (a sly nod to Philip K. Dick, the writer of Blade Runner’s source material) sold at auction for $270,000. The winning bidder was Dan Lanigan, a burly TV producer understood for bidding up lots that pass the “mom test,” props so indelibly iconic that even your mother would recognize them. The attraction of the hero blaster is the fact that, unlike countless sci-fi heaters, it appears and is like a genuine gun. That’s as it’s made out of real gun components. The steel slab atop the barrel additionally the magazine below are from the .222-caliber Steyr-Mannlicher SL bolt-action target rifle (the factory serial number is actually visible: 5223). Others primary donor organs had been pulled from the Charter Arms Bulldog .44 Unique. This inspired mix of high- and low-tech components strikes the right balance between dystopian sci-fi and gumshoe noir.

The protagonist of Paul Verhoeven’s sleeper hit is Officer Murphy, the titular cyborg tasked with cleaning the mean roads of Detroit. Nevertheless the character that really steals the show is the dysfunctional and heavily armed homicidal bot known as ED-209. Whether blowing away a brown-nosing junior executive with 20-mm cannons or tossing a big-baby tantrum after dropping down a journey of stairs, ED’s display screen existence actually paragon of stop-motion animatronics. Collector Dan Lanigan bought his ED-209 model directly from RoboCop’s VFX supervisor, Phil Tippett. It’s certainly one of only two fully articulating ED-209 miniatures created for this underrated cyberpunk satire, while the only 1 reused for Robocop 2 and 3. A cross from a Bell UH-1 Huey gunship plus DARPA black colored task, this 8-inch-tall maquette is definitely an exact dupe of this full-size (7-foot-tall, 300 lb) but mostly fixed fiberglass ED-209 that Verhoeven employed for the live-action scenes. An obsessive focus on detail—from the four hydraulic rams controlling each leg on temperature exchangers, intake/exhaust vents, and radiators (homages to ED’s Motor City origins)—was necessary so your lighting would reflect at the identical angle and strength on the puppet therefore’s full-size counterpart. If the metrics were slightly off, the stop-motion and live-action footage wouldn’t complement perfectly in post-production. Hinged and ball-and-socket joints help the numerous slight and accurate human body movements necessary for persuading stop-action photography. it is not only the historic importance, though, that gets enthusiasts excited. “ED actually badass Corvette with legs,” Lanigan says. “He’s a villain, but in addition likeable because he’s this kind of comical idiot.”

In the world of vintage collectables, there’s always a marquee brand that demands insane rates. Within the sci-fi prop world, that brand is celebrity Wars. The prices for production artifacts having a Lucasfilm provenance produce a mockery of presale quotes. A TIE Fighter miniature from celebrity Wars: a brand new Hope offered for $402,500, almost two times the anticipated price. More impressive, back in 2005, a lightsaber utilized by Mark Hamill in identical film offered for $200,600, three times its estimate. That first-gen gun (the main one lost and the majority of Luke’s forearm inside showdown with Vader at Cloud City) had been fashioned by set decorator Roger Christian from a classic flashgun handle for Graflex digital camera, along with other doodads. This one, Luke’s green-bladed Excalibur, was a brand new design crafted for Jedi. But this saber wasn’t built piece by piece—it’s a casting. In this process, a silicone mold is made of the initial prop, then that mildew is used to produce identical copies in hard rubber, resin, as well as metal. Castings are often used in host to hero props in stunt scenes so that the detail by detail initial doesn’t get damaged. This resin casting ended up being used in the Sarlacc series within Great Pit of Carkoon.

Every generation has its youth demons. The production of The Terminator in 1984 introduced a new bogeyman on silver screen (and VHS): the T-800. Seven years later on, the film’s sequel, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, cemented the standing of the crimson-eyed grim reapers. Only four among these “puppets” had been made for T2: two articulating heroes (capable of gross human anatomy movement, plus head and facial movement), and two “stunts” (nonarticulating, but designed to simply take more punishment). An authentic, full-scale T-800 endoskeleton sold at auction in 2007. Bidding started at $80,000 and topped down at $488,750, crushing the pre-auction high estimate of $120,000. Why so much for the shiny puppet? Since it was a screen-used hero T-800, among the models that saw action whenever cameras were rolling. Additionally, the T-800 is Stan Winston’s Mona Lisa. The belated designer’s FX wizardry is element of Hollywood lore: Jurassic Park III, Aliens, Predator, Predator 2, A.I., Edward Scissorhands. One of his four Oscars (most useful artistic Effects, 1992) is as a result of this 6′ 2″ animatronic skeleton. The second-gen T-800 is created mostly of plastic that’s been electroplated. How can you electroplate a nonconductive product like synthetic? By spraying the synthetic having a high-particulate, conductive copper paint, then submerging the pieces within an electroplating bath, very first nickel, then chrome. Even though this added more excess body fat to the puppets, it made the finish stronger. Huge weight cost savings were recognized elsewhere—50 pounds’ worth—because the harder exterior eradicated the necessity for internal metal supports. This light and nimble design permitted a puppeteer to crash a stunt T-800 through a breakaway wall or wreak havoc on the Future War battlefield and never have to worry about items of chrome flaking down. Sweet goals, puny humans.

There’s no denying the social need for Ghostbusters. Now more than three decades old, the original movie still resonates such as a giant tuning fork. Which goes a considerable ways toward explaining why the proton pack can be so revered by prop enthusiasts. In the end, that wouldn’t wish unique portable unlicensed nuclear accelerator? Influenced by a military-issue flamethrower, “hardware consultant” Stephen Dane bought a backpack framework from an military excess shop in Hollywood and made a rough model. After manager Ivan Reitman added his tweaks, a cinematic legend was created. The molded fiberglass shell is attached to an aluminum backplate, that has been then bolted up to a US Army–spec backpack frame. Dane added paint, aluminum caution labels (“Danger: tall Voltage 1KV”), flashing lights, crank knobs, and sufficient electronic components to make the thing pop onscreen. The majority of those elements are identified as a result of hi-res photos on prop websites: Sage and Dale resistors, Clippard pneumatic tubing, Arcolectric indicators, and Legris banjo bolts (in the neutrona wand). It’s since hefty as it looks—with the battery, a hero weighs more than 30 pounds. To relieve the load regarding the actor’s arms, two lighter variations were readily available for use during shooting: a gutted “semi-hero,” with cast area details (for wide shots) and a bantam-weight “stunt” made of foam plastic (to use it scenes). Four years back, a screen-used hero proton pack had been put into the Lanigan collection. Price: $169,900. Congrats Dan, but remember: Don’t cross the channels. It might be bad.

Stanley Kubrick’s masterful story of peoples evolution catapulted the modest sci-fi genre from B-movie fodder to severe art, thanks mainly toward groundbreaking visuals pioneered by the auteur director and his FX master, Douglas Trumbull. The miniature models found in the eerily realistic space travel scenes are of specific interest to collectors because of their intricate design—aerospace designers were consulted in the manufacturing of each and every model. All of the initial props had been damaged, but one of many 2001 miniatures survived: the screen-used Aries shuttle that transports Dr. Heywood R. Floyd from space station towards Clavius excavation site regarding moon. In 1975, the prop discovered its method to one of Kubrick’s next-door neighbors, a Hertfordshire general public college teacher, whom used it as show-and-tell display for art students. When the prop ended up being eventually consigned to auction in 2015, the last paddle cost significantly exceeded the expected high mark of $100,000. The winning bid, at $344,000, had been the Academy of movie Arts and Sciences. It’ll be restored before being shown during the new Renzo Piano-designed Academy Museum, which opens in 2018. The hulking Aries model—it weighs about 100 pounds and measures 94 inches in circumference—is manufactured from timber, blown plexiglass, as well as other metals, finished with synthetic bits cherry-picked from off-the-shelf scale-model kits. These hobby-model parts give you the information, texture, and depth required for close-up FX photography with large-format digital cameras. Look closely and you’ll also see wires, tubing, versatile metal foils, decals (“Battery Location Point Here”), and plenty of heat-formed plastic cladding. Even though interior mechanicals were eliminated many years ago, the gears that control the four landing feet nevertheless work flawlessly. The virtuosic scene in 2001 featuring this long-lost orb is the reason Mission Control still has The Blue Danube Waltz in hefty rotation on its wake-up playlist for ISS astronauts.

There are plenty of bogus or knockoff Star Trek props in blood circulation, but there’s absolutely nothing fake about it original show phaser. The provenance is stellar: bought by way of a prop artist straight from Paramount in the 1970s. It’s an ultra-rare hero constructed mostly of aluminum, fiberglass, and cast resin. The handle is really a hand-painted brass tube adorned with popsicle sticks. (Yes, really. Look closely.) There were other phasers made, including midgrade fiberglass models for longer shots and VacuForm synthetic people for Kirk to utilize whenever clubbing Klingons. But this is the many intricate variant used for close-ups. Only two were made, which means this specimen is worth a bundle. The master isn’t attempting to sell anyhow. It’s section of a huge sci-fi prop collection that includes classics such as for instance a prized room suit from 2001. In the event that you should have a phaser of your personal, there’s always the forgery market.

Some props are sketched by way of a conceptual artist and painstakingly assembled by union craftspeople piece by piece. Additional, though, are simply just castings. This might be especially true of movie prop firearms. Matt Damon can’t pistol-whip a poor guy with a real Sig Sauer 9-mm hero weapon in The Bourne Identity. A “live gun” can be used strictly for close-ups and shooting blanks, where filming anything but a real Sig just won’t do. To pull off a pistol-whip scene, the prop division must throw a Sig Sauer stunt gun away from soft rubber. Firearms may also be cast in hard plastic, resin, and even metal based on just what function they have to serve in movie. Within the prop gathering community, castings and recastings (castings of castings) are extremely contentious topics. “If you appear for cheap movie prop kits or ‘raw castings’ on e-bay, you’ll find hundreds of people all over the globe whom purchased some shitty plastic prop and made it shittier by recasting it,” says previous Lucasfilm VFX designer and MythBusters host Adam Savage. “Because each time you cast something, each successive generation gets crappier.” When Savage chose to add the comically oversized Samaritan handgun to his prop collection, he went straight to the foundation: Guillermo del Toro, manager for the Hellboy franchise. Unlike countless iconic props, there aren’t numerous genuine Samaritan castings available. Del Toro owns the only real hero Samaritan, which was cast in aluminum by the famous Weta Workshop in New Zealand. He additionally had a spare screen-used hard rubber Samaritan casting, which he traded upright for casting of Adam Savage’s immaculate scratch-built Blade Runner PKD blaster. An ideal clone of visual designer TyRuben Ellingson’s initial concept the film, the Samaritan is amongst the heaviest stunt handguns ever cast. “My Samaritan weighs 5 or 6 pounds,” Savage states proudly. “Guillermo had the stunt guns cast in hard rubber because he desired them to feel hefty whenever [Hellboy star] Ron Perlman picked them up.” The Weta detailing is so accurate this thing could pass for the hero Samaritan in a super taut shot. “The gravitas and veracity with this prop is exceptional,” Savage states. “It feels luxurious to put up.”

Rene Chun is just a frequent WIRED factor. He composed about the SFMOMA redesign in problem 24.05.

It used to be an underground hobby. People did it, but nobody talked about it—not only because it was embarrassing to admit that you coveted Charlton Heston’s slave collar from Planet of the Apes but also because, since such things were studio property, it was illegal to own them. Shady studio insiders and a cabal of collectors struck deals in private. That all changed in 1970, when MGM cleared some clutter from its soundstages with a three-day auction. Among the frayed costumes and antique furniture that hit the block were two of the most important sci-fi props ever made: the proto-steampunk contraption from the 1960 film adaptation of H. G. Wells’ The Time Machine, and the miniature model of the United Planets Cruiser C-57D, better known as the Forbidden Planet flying saucer. The time machine sold for almost $10,000, and while there’s no record of what the silver saucer went for then, it changed hands eight years ago for $76,700. Since MGM’s auction, prices for the best sci-fi props have routinely hit six-figures. In October 2015, the miniature Rebel blockade runner ship from Star Wars: Episode IV pulled down $450,000.

This very expensive hobby is about more than snatching up the coolest specimens. It’s about lost youth, self-identification, preserving the past, and—though most collectors won’t admit it—hero worship and secret cosplay. There are some things in life more thrilling than watching your favorite movie late at night while clutching a screen-used prop from the same flick in your trembling, sweaty palms, but it’s a very short list.

When the Blade Runner gun surfaced, it was a big deal for the sci-fi prop community. After 24 years without a sighting, enthusiasts had resigned themselves to the idea that Deckard’s hand cannon was lost forever, like tears in rain. Then suddenly there it was, at the 2006 Worldcon, displayed under glass in all its off-world glory. Using 170 forensic photographs documenting every screw, scratch, and rust spot, hardcore collectors on the RPF hobbyist website were able to make a positive ID. Not only was this an authentic BR gun, it was the authentic “hero” blaster—hero being prop lingo for the detailed model used in close-ups—the very same weapon Harrison Ford used to blow away replicants. Three years later, Deckard’s PKD (a sly nod to Philip K. Dick, the author of Blade Runner’s source material) sold at auction for $270,000. The winning bidder was Dan Lanigan, a burly TV producer known for bidding up lots that pass the “mom test,” props so indelibly iconic that even your mother would recognize them. The allure of this hero blaster is that, unlike so many sci-fi heaters, it looks and feels like a real gun. That’s because it’s made with real gun parts. The steel slab atop the barrel and the magazine below are from a .222-caliber Steyr-Mannlicher SL bolt-action target rifle (the factory serial number is clearly visible: 5223). The other primary donor organs were pulled from a Charter Arms Bulldog .44 Special. This inspired mix of high- and low-tech components strikes the perfect balance between dystopian sci-fi and gumshoe noir.

The protagonist of Paul Verhoeven’s sleeper hit is Officer Murphy, the titular cyborg tasked with cleaning up the mean streets of Detroit. But the character that really steals the show is the dysfunctional and heavily armed homicidal bot known as ED-209. Whether blowing away a brown-nosing junior executive with 20-mm cannons or throwing a big-baby tantrum after falling down a flight of stairs, ED’s screen presence is a paragon of stop-motion animatronics. Collector Dan Lanigan purchased his ED-209 model directly from RoboCop’s VFX supervisor, Phil Tippett. It’s one of only two fully articulating ED-209 miniatures made for this underrated cyberpunk satire, and the only one reused for Robocop 2 and 3. A cross between a Bell UH-1 Huey gunship and a DARPA black project, this 8-inch-tall maquette is an exact dupe of the full-size (7-foot-tall, 300 pound) but mostly static fiberglass ED-209 that Verhoeven used for the live-action scenes. An obsessive attention to detail—from the four hydraulic rams controlling each leg to the heat exchangers, intake/exhaust vents, and radiators (homages to ED’s Motor City roots)—was necessary so that the lighting would reflect at exactly the same angle and intensity on both the puppet and it’s full-size counterpart. If the metrics were slightly off, the stop-motion and live-action footage wouldn’t match up perfectly in post-production. Hinged and ball-and-socket joints enable the many slight and precise body movements necessary for convincing stop-action photography. It’s not just the historical significance, though, that gets collectors excited. “ED is a badass Corvette with legs,” Lanigan says. “He’s a villain, but also likeable because he’s such a comical idiot.”

In the world of vintage collectables, there’s always a marquee brand that demands insane prices. In the sci-fi prop world, that brand is Star Wars. The prices for production artifacts with a Lucasfilm provenance make a mockery of presale estimates. A TIE Fighter miniature from Star Wars: A New Hope sold for $402,500, nearly twice the expected price. More impressive, back in 2005, a lightsaber used by Mark Hamill in the same film sold for $200,600, three times its estimate. That first-gen weapon (the one lost along with most of Luke’s forearm in the showdown with Vader at Cloud City) was fashioned by set decorator Roger Christian out of an old flashgun handle for a Graflex camera, along with other doodads. This one, Luke’s green-bladed Excalibur, was a new design crafted for Jedi. But this saber wasn’t built piece by piece—it’s a casting. In this process, a silicone mold is made of the original prop, then that mold is used to produce identical copies in hard rubber, resin, and even metal. Castings are often used in place of hero props in stunt scenes so the detailed original doesn’t get damaged. This resin casting was used in the Sarlacc sequence at the Great Pit of Carkoon.

Every generation has its childhood demons. The release of The Terminator in 1984 introduced a new bogeyman to the silver screen (and VHS): the T-800. Seven years later, the film’s sequel, Terminator 2: Judgment Day, cemented the reputation of the crimson-eyed grim reapers. Only four of these “puppets” were made for T2: two articulating heroes (capable of gross body movement, plus head and facial movement), and two “stunts” (nonarticulating, but designed to take more punishment). An original, full-scale T-800 endoskeleton sold at auction in 2007. Bidding started at $80,000 and topped out at $488,750, crushing the pre-auction high estimate of $120,000. Why so much for a shiny puppet? Because it was a screen-used hero T-800, one of the models that saw action when the cameras were rolling. Also, the T-800 happens to be Stan Winston’s Mona Lisa. The late designer’s FX wizardry is part of Hollywood lore: Jurassic Park III, Aliens, Predator, Predator 2, A.I., Edward Scissorhands. One of his four Oscars (Best Visual Effects, 1992) is thanks to this 6′ 2″ animatronic skeleton. The second-gen T-800 is made mostly of plastic that’s been electroplated. How do you electroplate a nonconductive material like plastic? By spraying the plastic with a high-particulate, conductive copper paint, then submerging the pieces in an electroplating bath, first nickel, then chrome. Although this added more weight to the puppets, it made the finish more durable. Huge weight savings were realized elsewhere—50 pounds’ worth—because the harder exterior eliminated the need for internal steel supports. This light and nimble design allowed a puppeteer to crash a stunt T-800 through a breakaway wall or wreak havoc on the Future War battlefield without having to worry about bits of chrome flaking off. Sweet dreams, puny humans.

There’s no denying the cultural significance of Ghostbusters. Now more than three decades old, the original film still resonates like a giant tuning fork. Which goes a long way toward explaining why the proton pack is so revered by prop collectors. After all, who wouldn’t want their own portable unlicensed nuclear accelerator? Inspired by a military-issue flamethrower, “hardware consultant” Stephen Dane purchased a backpack frame from an army surplus store in Hollywood and made a rough prototype. After director Ivan Reitman added his tweaks, a cinematic legend was born. The molded fiberglass shell is attached to an aluminum backplate, which was then bolted to a US Army–spec backpack frame. Dane added paint, aluminum warning labels (“Danger: High Voltage 1KV”), flashing lights, crank knobs, and enough electronic parts to make the thing pop onscreen. Most of those components have been identified thanks to hi-res photos on prop sites: Sage and Dale resistors, Clippard pneumatic tubing, Arcolectric indicators, and Legris banjo bolts (on the neutrona wand). It’s as heavy as it looks—with the battery, a hero weighs more than 30 pounds. To ease the load on the actor’s shoulders, two lighter versions were available for use during filming: a gutted “semi-hero,” with some cast surface details (for wide shots) and a bantam-weight “stunt” made of foam rubber (for action scenes). Four years ago, a screen-used hero proton pack was added to the Lanigan collection. Price: $169,900. Congrats Dan, but remember: Don’t cross the streams. It would be bad.

Stanley Kubrick’s masterful tale of human evolution catapulted the humble sci-fi genre from B-movie fodder to serious art, thanks largely to the groundbreaking visuals pioneered by the auteur director and his FX master, Douglas Trumbull. The miniature models used in the eerily realistic space travel scenes are of particular interest to collectors because of their intricate design—aerospace engineers were consulted on the production of each model. Most of the original props were destroyed, but one of the 2001 miniatures survived: the screen-used Aries shuttle that transports Dr. Heywood R. Floyd from the space station to the Clavius excavation site on the moon. In 1975, the prop found its way to one of Kubrick’s neighbors, a Hertfordshire public school teacher, who used it as a show-and-tell exhibit for art students. When the prop was eventually consigned to auction in 2015, the final paddle price greatly exceeded the expected high mark of $100,000. The winning bid, at $344,000, was the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. It will be restored before being displayed at the new Renzo Piano-designed Academy Museum, which opens in 2018. The hulking Aries model—it weighs about 100 pounds and measures 94 inches in circumference—is made of wood, blown plexiglass, and various metals, finished with plastic bits cherry-picked from off-the-shelf scale-model kits. These hobby-model parts provide the detail, texture, and depth necessary for close-up FX photography with large-format cameras. Look closely and you’ll also see wires, tubing, flexible metal foils, decals (“Battery Location Point Here”), and plenty of heat-formed plastic cladding. Although the internal mechanicals were removed many years ago, the gears that control the four landing legs still function flawlessly. The virtuosic scene in 2001 starring this long-lost orb is the reason Mission Control still has The Blue Danube Waltz in heavy rotation on its wake-up playlist for ISS astronauts.

There are plenty of bogus or knockoff Star Trek props in circulation, but there’s nothing fake about this original series phaser. The provenance is stellar: purchased by a prop artist directly from Paramount in the 1970s. It’s an ultra-rare hero constructed mostly of aluminum, fiberglass, and cast resin. The handle is a hand-painted brass tube embellished with popsicle sticks. (Yes, really. Look closely.) There were other phasers made, including midgrade fiberglass models for longer shots and VacuForm plastic ones for Kirk to use when clubbing Klingons. But this is the most intricate variant used for close-ups. Only two were made, so this specimen is worth a bundle. The owner isn’t selling anyway. It’s part of a massive sci-fi prop collection that includes classics like a prized space suit from 2001. If you must have a phaser of your own, there’s always the forgery market.

Some props are sketched by a conceptual artist and painstakingly assembled by union craftspeople piece by piece. Many more, though, are simply castings. This is particularly true of movie prop firearms. Matt Damon can’t pistol-whip a bad guy with a real Sig Sauer 9-mm hero gun in The Bourne Identity. A “live gun” is used strictly for close-ups and shooting blanks, where filming anything but an actual Sig just won’t do. To pull off a pistol-whip scene, the prop department must cast a Sig Sauer stunt gun out of soft rubber. Guns are also cast in hard rubber, resin, and even metal depending on what function they need to serve in the film. In the prop collecting community, castings and recastings (castings of castings) are highly contentious subjects. “If you look for cheap movie prop kits or ‘raw castings’ on eBay, you’ll find hundreds of people all over the world who bought some shitty rubber prop and made it shittier by recasting it,” says former Lucasfilm VFX designer and MythBusters host Adam Savage. “Because every time you cast something, each successive generation gets crappier.” So when Savage decided to add the comically oversized Samaritan handgun to his prop collection, he went straight to the source: Guillermo del Toro, director of the Hellboy franchise. Unlike a lot of iconic props, there aren’t many genuine Samaritan castings on the market. Del Toro owns the only hero Samaritan, which was cast in aluminum by the famous Weta Workshop in New Zealand. He also had a spare screen-used hard rubber Samaritan casting, which he traded straight up for a casting of Adam Savage’s immaculate scratch-built Blade Runner PKD blaster. A perfect clone of visual designer TyRuben Ellingson’s original concept for the film, the Samaritan is one of the heaviest stunt handguns ever cast. “My Samaritan weighs 5 or 6 pounds,” Savage says proudly. “Guillermo had the stunt guns cast in hard rubber because he wanted them to feel heavy when [Hellboy star] Ron Perlman picked them up.” The Weta detailing is so accurate that this thing could pass for the hero Samaritan in a tight shot. “The gravitas and veracity of this prop is exceptional,” Savage says. “It feels luxurious to hold.”

Rene Chun is a frequent WIRED contributor. He wrote about the SFMOMA redesign in issue 24.05.

During his campaign for president, Donald Trump promised to end action on climate change and kill the climate treaty adopted in 2015 in Paris. To truly understand why that’s such a big deal—perhaps the biggest deal ever—you need to think about a few things.

Yes, you need to think about the oft-repeated but nonetheless true and alarming statistics: 2014 was the hottest year ever recorded till 2015 snatched the crown—till 2016 obliterated the record. Last summer featured some of the hottest days ever reliably recorded on this planet: 128 degrees Fahrenheit in cities like Basra, Iraq—right at the edge of human endurance. Global sea ice has been at a record low in recent months.

But you need to think about more than that.

Think about the slow, difficult, centuries-long march of science that got us to the point where we could understand our peril. Think of Joseph Fourier in the 1820s, realizing that gases could trap heat in the atmosphere; John Tyndall in the middle of that century, figuring out that carbon dioxide is one of those gases; and the valiant Svante Arrhenius in the 1890s, calculating by hand how the global temperature rises in lockstep with carbon dioxide levels. Think of Hans Suess and Roger Revelle in the 1950s, fumbling toward an understanding that the oceans would not absorb excess CO2—the first modern realization that CO2 must be accumulating in the atmosphere and hence, as Revelle put it, “human beings are now carrying out a large-scale geophysical experiment of a kind that could not have happened in the past nor be reproduced in the future.” Think of Charles Keeling in 1958, installing the first real CO2 monitor on the side of Mauna Loa and for the first time watching the CO2 level steadily rise. Think of the scientists who built on that work, using satellites and ocean buoy sensors to erect a scaffolding of observations; think of the theorists who used that data and the new power of supercomputers to build models that by the 1980s had made it clear we faced great danger. Think of the men and women who educated those scientists and who built the institutions in which they were educated and who organized the learned societies that supported them. And think of the forums—like the UN and its Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change—that brought them together from across the planet to combine their knowledge.

Now think of the men and women of the diplomatic corps, who over generations have learned to build bridges across nations, to sometimes reconcile disputes short of war. The Paris accord was a triumph for them, not because it solved the problem (it didn’t, not even close) but because it existed at all. Somehow 195 nations—rich and poor, those with oil beneath their sand and those that have to import it—managed to agree that we should limit the rise in temperature to 2 degrees Celsius this century and set up an intricate architecture to at least begin the process. That too is an aspect of what we call civilization.

None of this should be taken for granted. The building blocks of our common home—science and diplomacy and also civility—are hard-won, and history would indicate that they can fade fast. In fact, we now seem likely to start tossing them away based on nothing but the politically useful whim that climate change is a hoax. When Trump announced on the campaign trail that he would “cancel” the Paris agreement, it represented an assault on civilization as surely as announcing that he would jail his political opponent represented an assault on democracy. He’s backed down from the latter plan and, under pressure, said he now has an “open mind” about Paris—though his chief of staff clarified that his “default position” is that climate change is bunk. In any event, he has packed his transition team and cabinet with a small band of climate deniers who have blocked action for years. Already they’ve announced their intention to end NASA’s climate research, which has been a bulwark of the scientific edifice. If they have their way, there will be no more satellites carefully measuring the mass of ice sheets so we can track their melt, no more creative and fascinating “missions to planet Earth” that the space agency has run so successfully. We seem intent on blinding ourselves, on ripping out the smoke detectors even as the house begins to burn.

Trump’s team can’t, by themselves, change everything. Engineers and entrepreneurs have done their jobs magnificently over the past decade, as the price of a solar panel has fallen 80 percent. Because of that work, the potential for rapid change is finally at hand. Denmark generated nearly half its power from wind in 2015, and not because it cornered the world’s supply of breeze. Given the new economics of renewable energy, progress will continue. But the climate question has never been about progress per se; we know that eventually we’ll move to the sun and wind. The issue has always been about pace, and now Trump will add serious friction, quite likely shifting the trajectory of our path enough that we will never catch up with the physics of climate change. Other assaults on civilization and reason eventually wore themselves out—fascism, communism, imperialism. But there’s no way to wait out climate change, because this test has a timer on it. Melt enough ice caps and you live on a very different planet. Either we solve this soon or we don’t solve it. And if we don’t, then the cascading crises that follow (massive storms, waterlogged cities, floods of migrants) will batter our societies in new ways that we are ill prepared to handle, as the xenophobia of this election season showed.

Which is why we need to rise to the occasion. Not only in our day jobs but in our roles as citizens—of city, state, country, planet. Engineers should, by all means, keep developing the next generation of batteries; but that work is merely necessary now, not sufficient. We must not watch idly as Trump takes a hammer to the mechanisms of our civilization, mechanisms that can’t be rebuilt in the time we have. We need to resist in all the nonviolent ways that we’ve learned over the past century and in new ones that the moment suggests. There will be marches and divestment campaigns, pressure to be put on city halls and statehouses. We will not lack for opportunity. If many join in, then civilization will not just endure but will emerge stronger for the testing, able to face our problems with renewed vigor. At best, it’s going to be a very close call.

Bill McKibben is the Schumann Distinguished Scholar in Environmental Studies at Middlebury College and founder of global grassroots climate campaign 350.org.